The Minstrel

Guiltless Survivors

He had been falling in and out of consciousness throughout the remainder of the morning and all of the afternoon. Each time Killian returned and found him limp and slack-jawed, a jolt of fear surged in his chest at the thought that he would be left alone again. Yet, after a few minutes with Killian knelt by his side, Thorian would stir. His lids would flutter as the shock of cold seawater washed over the skin surrounding his wound, and he would fix his caregiver with a glassy stare. At first, this sudden sense of alertness in Thorian had filled Killian with hope, but it was clear as the hours passed that these moments of lucidity were more and more plagued with the onset of delirium.

It had not taken long to strip the cloth from the pant leg of Thorian's injured limb. Though he had elicited little reaction while Killian was in the process, prying the cloth loose from around the jagged splinter caused Thorian to wince. It was not as severe of a reaction as Killian had had upon seeing it. Buried into the flesh of his thigh like the head of a spear, the fractured plank stuck out by nearly four or five inches. Both the pant leg that had been torn away and the flesh beneath it were stained a vibrant crimson.

Each movement made by Thorian caused a fresh geyser to erupt from injury. Killian did his best to repurpose the cloth into a tourniquet, but the material was much too damaged to stop the flow of blood completely. Killian had toyed with the idea of pulling out the sliver, but quickly decided against it. Not only could the blood loss be dangerous, but the thought of performing such an action made his stomach turn. Instead, he had decided to snap the wooden shrapnel at its point of entry - an idea that didn't exactly fill him with joy either.

Despite his apprehensions, he had waited until Thorian had awoken once again before he explained what he was going to attempt. He wasn't even certain that Thorian had understood him in his delusions, but he made the effort regardless. From the first application of pressure, a small pool of dark blood rose and overflowed from the wound. Killian felt Thorian tense up and braced his forearm against his nephew's upper thigh to prepare for what was to come. His hand trembling and already thoroughly slick with an unsavory mixture of sweat and blood made the first attempt an utter failure.

Wrapping his fingers tightly around the object, Killian's hand slipped, and he ended up jolting it to the side instead. Thorian released an inhuman howl of agony, involuntarily bringing his knee up to where it connected with Killian's jaw. Falling backward and cursing loudly, Killian stood and paused to massage the point of impact. Thorian's head had slumped forward onto his own chest, apparently having passed out from the pain once more. For an instant, Killian debated whether or not to leave Thorian and attempt to find any others who may have wound up on the island.

Killian was far from a physician, with his only experience with medicine being caring for an elderly and incontinent man who was far past the point of no return. That being said, the one skill it had afforded him was the ability to tell when one had reached that critical point between the possibility of recovery and becoming a lost cause. Thorian had not reached that point yet, but he may as well have if there were no survivors with more practice than Killian. Still, he had not exactly been on the best of terms with the crew of the Korvinsfald, and Thorian had helped him bridge that gap. The thought of coming upon any of the Dwarven crew without Thorian as a natural barrier did not sit well with him.

Before he could think any further on the matter, Killian knelt down once more. Wiping his hand dry upon his shirt, he pressed firmly around the wound, gripped the sprinter, and wrenched it to the side with an audible crack. Thorian had not even stirred. With a sigh of relief, Killian raised himself up and made to return to the beach to gather more water. He was barefoot now, clutching the one boot that remained to him in both hands.

Using a partial strip of cloth, he had mended the sole well enough that it could hold enough liquid to bring back to Thorian. It would not leak so badly as to be completely gone, if he hurried with each trip. As he trod the same path to the coast he'd made a dozen times now, he became painfully aware of his own fatigue. He could do with some rest of his own, and his throat was beginning to become parched. Yet, it was Thorian that needed caring for and Thorian who would receive it.